


Side Effects of Democracy May Include

by Selkit



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Inappropriate Use of the Force, Inspirational Speeches, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Canon, Semi-Public Sex, or lack thereof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 07:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13336653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkit/pseuds/Selkit
Summary: The war is over. The Republic has been restored. And no one ever warned Rey just howdullsome aspects of democratic diplomacy can be.But if there's one thing her Force bond with Ben Solo is good for, it's distraction.





	Side Effects of Democracy May Include

In retrospect, Rey figures, she probably should have told someone about it. 

She honestly didn’t think she’d even have to. It’s been years, after all. Surely by now, _someone_ has noticed the moments when her eyes glaze over a bit and drift off to look at something–someone–who isn’t exactly, entirely _there_.

Maybe they all do know about the Force bond and they’re just not letting her in on it. Maybe it’s some great big Republic-wide secret and everyone is snickering at her behind their wine glasses right now. 

Standing at the other end of the immense banquet table, the vision of Ben smirks in her direction. Rey stifles a sigh, but she can’t deny the quiver in her chest that’s caught somewhere between warmth and relief. In all the years she fought along the Resistance to restore the Republic, no one ever warned her of this particular side effect of success: along with democratic government comes endlessly long, dreadfully _boring_ state affairs which, for some reason no one can quite figure out, always seem to require the presence of a Force sensitive individual. 

She and Ben take turns, whenever there’s one on the agenda. This just so happens to be her lucky night. 

Ben walks over, taking his time, fingers trailing unnoticed along the backs of galactic dignitaries’ chairs. Even though she shared an orbit with Han Solo for little more than a day, somehow Rey just knows Ben got that saunter from his father. 

“Enjoying the party?” Ben asks, finally stopping behind Rey’s chair. 

She casts a mute glare over her armrest. His hand rests on the back of her seat, inches from the spot where her shoulder meets her neck. She can feel the heat of it jumping to her skin like sparks. 

“Is the food good, at least?” Ben leans in closer, until his chin is on her shoulder, his hair tickling her cheek. “Ah, nerf tenderloin with redor sauce. Lucky you. That’s delicious.” 

Rey risks a quick glance up and down the table. No one is looking at her.

“I’m sure it will be,” she mutters, little more than a whisper, taking care to ensure her lips barely move. “Once we actually get to _eat_ it. Why is it that all the speeches at these events have to happen before the food?”

Ben laughs, a low dark vibration that rumbles all the way down her spine. “Because otherwise, no one would stay awake for the speeches.”

Rey swallows. At the head of the table, the dignitary presiding over the event is still making his way through a litany of ponderous opening remarks. The scent of the perfectly grilled nerf wafts from the table like an instrument of torture, and Rey’s stomach responds with an ill-timed growl.

She stifles a yelp, clapping a hand to her abdomen. Beside her, Ben breaks into a full-blown grin, and it makes her breath stutter in her chest. Even now, reconciled to the light, his smiles are still all too rare. Yet when they do appear, they outshine even Jakku’s sun. 

“I don’t think he’s going to be done talking anytime soon.” Ben’s voice is like the purr of a fine-tuned engine in her ear. “If you’re going to make it to the meal, I think you’ll need something to…”

He slips to his knees beside her chair. Rey can’t stop her eyes from going big and round as moons. “Something to what?” she squeaks.

Somehow, Ben is scooting his immense frame beneath the table, positioning himself directly in front of her. Directly in front of her, on his knees, half-hidden behind the luxurious tablecloth, his fingers drifting to slip beneath her dress and curl around her calves. 

“To keep your mind occupied,” he says, and something warm and wicked flashes through his eyes. His hands creep up to her knees, gently pulling them apart, brushing along the inside of her thighs. “If you want.”

She’s already breathing way too fast. Any minute now, the guest next to her is going to turn and give her a funny look. “Ben,” she mouths, hands gripping the armrests. Her belly is starting to flutter, hips already beginning to swivel.

And he’s still grinning. Damn him. His fingers inch higher, and then his mouth is hovering just above her knee, breath hot on her skin. 

“Please,” he whispers.

The Force is a damned pervert. Rey can’t decide if she loves it or hates it.

She lifts one hand from the armrest, reaches down as though to adjust the napkin on her lap, and pushes Ben’s head further between her thighs. He _hums_ as he goes to work, and Rey fights the impulse to stiffen in her chair, her palm curving around the base of his skull, fingers clawing in the ridiculous plush mass of his hair. 

The tiniest whimper escapes her. She sucks on her lower lip, casting a glance at the speech-giving dignitary. Still droning on and on about…something.

Her eyes drift closed as the crescendo builds. Her fingers tighten, trembling against Ben’s scalp, the heel of her other hand grinding against her chair’s armrest, fingers splayed, then flexed, then gripping white-knuckled as the waves crash all around her–

“Master Jedi?”

Her eyes snap open. The dignitary seated across the table has her fixed in a pale watery stare, an expression of mild bemusement on his face. “Master Jedi, are you quite well? You look flushed.”

“Oh! I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” Her voice is too loud. She clears her throat, lets a smile split her face, tries to rein it all back in. “I was just–just, ah, enjoying the smell of the food.” 

It occurs to her, in a moment’s flash, that the drone of the speech has stopped, replaced by the clinking of silverware as people finally dig into the meal. She clears her throat again, ineffectually, releases her handful of Ben’s hair and raises unsteady hands to her fork and knife. She can feel the pads of his fingers trailing along her thighs, leaving her little trembling aftershocks, sure as she can feel the warmth of his satisfaction through the bond. And maybe just a hint of smugness.

“Enjoying with your eyes closed, eh? You don’t have to fib, Master Jedi.” The dignitary winks, and Rey’s heart stops. 

“I–excuse me?”

“We all know how dull the speeches are,” the dignitary says. “No one can blame you for escaping into a bit of your–what is it? Jedi meditation.”

Below the table, she can hear Ben’s chuckle, followed by the last ghostly brush of his fingers before the bond slips closed. 

“Meditation,” she echoes, and puts on a sheepish smile. “Yes, that’s right. You got me. Meditation it was.”


End file.
